Believe
by FerryBerry
Summary: Please read the author's note and warnings. AU.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All belongs to _Glee_ writers and creators.

**Trigger Warning:** Mentions of attempted self-mutilation.

**A/N:** This all started because I was asked repeatedly on Tumblr if I would ever consider writing G!P Quinn. The answer is normally no, mainly because I am not interested for the same reasons some people don't like the idea of G!P, and because it's not a kink of mine. As such, if I wrote it, I would not treat it as a kink, but discuss it seriously. This is the beginning of one such 'discussion,' to offer a taste of what it would be like if I were to write it. Since I had mixed answers on Tumblr between 'that was good, but please don't write G!P' and 'that was amazing, please write G!P,' I leave it to you good people to duke it out over whether I should explore it further than this drabble/prologue.

Also, the reason it is labeled with the Quinn/Rachel pairing is, well, because if I continued it, it would be Faberry, and since that is the readership, those are the people I want deciding whether they want to see more.

Lastly, the story is named after SafetySuit's song of the same title.

**Prologue  
**

Quinn was fourteen the first time she tried to take it off. She'd known she was different her entire life, but that day, that's when it hit her. So she'd gotten into the bathtub with a knife and a bottle of her father's best scotch. She didn't get very far. Her mother came in, screamed, and she was rushed to the hospital. She stayed there three days, receiving transfusions. When they went home, all the alcohol and everything remotely sharp was locked up, and Quinn started seeing a therapist. He was perfectly nice. But she still didn't tell him that the night they came home, her father asked her mother why she'd stopped her.

Or that later, she asked her mother the same thing. Her mom had started crying. And told her she was perfect the way she was, and when Quinn asked why they didn't get rid of it long ago, she only said that they hadn't had the money. And Quinn didn't ask any further than that. She'd known practically from birth that it had been a rough pregnancy. Unusually so. Hospital bills tacked on and on and it took a long time for them to get back on their rich little feet. Or rather, for her father. And now her mother refused to let him - let him make Quinn go through with a surgery, that is. Because she was perfect the way she was.

Perfect. With this thing that had made her different her whole life. Quinn could remember even to being a toddler, watching her father bring home a brand new pretty pink dress for her older sister, Francine, from his bonus that week. And then he'd excuse it to her mother, saying the dress had taken all of it and he'd buy something for Quinn next time. He didn't. And at school, even in elementary school, teachers hovered and worried over her. Or ignored her like her father did. She'd made a few friends and enemies of the other kids, being a teacher's pet in some classes. And having a key to the adults' bathroom.

To make friends of some enemies, Quinn had once let them use it, too. They were caught and Quinn was sent straight to the principal's office, and then home, where her mother had worried until her father got home. And then her father got home and screamed until Quinn cried. She never tried it again.

Eventually, Quinn learned why she was different. In fifth grade, they played the sex ed tapes, and Quinn learned that girls had vaginas and boys had penises. She was too embarrassed to ask the teacher, so she'd asked her mother when she got home. Her mother had cried and told her she was special, and that someday she could decide whether she wanted to be a boy or a girl. But Quinn was only ten at the time. And her peers and her life hadn't begun to revolve around puberty, sex - and differences.

The next few years brought those changes crashing down with a vengeance. Quinn had had to start wearing a special kind of underwear that smashed her down under her dresses and left her sore and a little bow-legged at the end of the day. Her friends started talking about boys they liked and hot actors and moaning about their periods and cramps, and Quinn could relate to none of it save for the beginning of bras. She was proud of her breasts when she got them, small though they were. She didn't exactly need a bra, even, not the first couple years - but her mother bought her some anyway, because Quinn was proud of them. Proud of proof that she was a girl, because who wanted to be a boy?

Though Quinn did meet a boy. A boy who liked her and who she thought was nice, even though his voice was cracking at the time. He was ahead of most of the other boys in that area. He blushed and stuttered each time he spoke to her, and the other boys teased him for it - and teased her for it. One in particular tugged at her ponytail during classes, asked if she liked him, loved him - and made it sound like a horrible thing. Quinn ignored him entirely, which only made it worse.

She gained a reputation as an Ice Queen, a better-than-thou, an all-that. Other boys who had begun to blush and stutter around her, too, changed their minds. And then one day in gym class, that boy who started it all chased her around the track yapping at her and she stared straight ahead and kept jogging. And he de-pantsed her. That was the day - the day she first tried to take it off.

Her mother and father agreed to let her switch schools, to go to William McKinley even though it was an hour away, and not to send her to a mental hospital. Her father privately agreed to make up for whatever money she didn't manage to make to pay for her surgery when she turned eighteen. And they agreed to stop calling her Lucy and start calling her by her middle name. Her gender neutral name, because that's what she was. Quinn.


	2. Home

**Home**

Lima was an hour away by car. Quinn wouldn't turn fifteen for a week, and then it would be six more months until she could achieve a learner's permit. Even then, she would have to have a licensed driver with her. So for the foreseeable future, her only option for getting to Lima was the bus. Not the school bus; they didn't come out that far. But the public bus went out to Lima on its way to Columbus. The first bus went at five am and the last at eleven pm.

Quinn had been practicing for a week, waking early to shower and walk to the bus stop, ride to Lima, and walk to the high school, timing herself to make sure she'd be to school on time when it finally started up in September, and back home before curfew the other way. She didn't stay until eleven pm, though she would have to soon, assuming she was accepted for one of the jobs she'd applied to while she was in Lima for the day. She didn't spend much time exploring the city for fun, only walking around to find job postings and fill out applications. So far, at a cafe called Lima Bean (how very punny), an Italian restaurant called Breadstix, as well as a few chain restaurants like Olive Garden and some of the fast food establishments. None of them seemed particularly interested in an almost-fifteen year old whose experience included mowing lawns and babysitting. She didn't blame them, but she needed the money.

Dad wasn't planning on funding her bus rides to and from Lima everyday, and the fare was $3 for the one-way to Lima. That meant $6 down the tubes a day and even without additional trips on the weekends, Quinn would be out $150 every four weeks of school, and while for the time being she was using money she had saved up from the aforementioned lawn mowing, babysitting, and birthday money from her grandparents, it wouldn't last long at that rate. And aside from that chunk of money going down the drain, she needed to keep saving up for her eighteenth birthday. She didn't imagine Dad being particularly happy to find out she was keeping her end of the bargain by supplying a couple hundred bucks to the cause of making her normal. She would need much more than that.

But there was only so much Quinn could do when no one was hiring - or at least not hiring her - so she simply kept applying whenever an opening caught her eye on a gas station corkboard or a telephone pole or online. Today she'd stopped by Breadstix to apply for a server position - last time had been for a dishwashing spot - and earned $40 mowing lawns for a block of senior citizens, at $10 a lawn. It wasn't much, but the lawns weren't very big and most of the residents were quaking old women who brought her pink lemonade while she worked, so she wasn't particularly keen on gouging them.

After getting far too sweaty doing that, however, Quinn decided it was time to execute another plan she'd been thinking of for some time, and she figured the $40 was a proper donation to that cause. She asked one of the women about local hair salons and walked to the nearest one that accepted walk-ins. It took about half the money she pushed at the receptionist at the desk for a wash and cut, and in the end they asked if she would mind donating all that was left to Locks of Love, so she felt it was money well-spent. Besides, she would keep getting $40 every week for mowing and then raking leaves and then shoveling snow. She could splurge once, and it was worth it.

Her head felt unnaturally light, almost bouncy, when she went back to the bus stop to wait for the five o'clock run. Mom was usually home around four thirty to start dinner, while Dad got home at five thirty or later, so Quinn naturally would've taken the two o'clock slot to be home for company since Frannie had moved out (and was now married), but he didn't particularly like it if her job search took less than his work day. When she arrived home today, however, her mother's minivan was nowhere in sight and the kitchen lights were off. He was in the living room with his feet up in his chair, scotch in one hand and remote in the other. There was one of those pre-football season games on - or maybe he was watching an old recorded game, Quinn couldn't tell.

She wiped off her tennis shoes on the rug before she toed them off on the shoe rack and went toward the kitchen to see if her mother had left any food over. She still had the lunch she'd packed for today, since one of the old ladies had stuffed her with mini sandwiches and cookies, fortunately. There was no note of any kind, and she wasn't about to ask him, so she grabbed a pop from the fridge, sat at the island counter, and pulled out her PB&amp;J, chips, and cheese stick to munch on in the quiet, opening the book she'd been reading on the bus back up on the countertop to peruse in the meantime, before she could go up to her room. She was nearly finished with the book and her food when he came in, swinging his glass and his key to the liquor cabinet.

"Did you find a job yet?" He was pouring his scotch, back to her.

Quinn stuck her finger between the pages. "No, sir. Where's Mom?"

"Working late. Where'd you apply?" He latched the liquor cabinet shut again.

"Breadstix and a couple other places…"

"Breadstix? That dump downtown?" He scoffed at her, rolling his scotch around between his thumb and forefinger. "They've got more rats than people there. They try to shove any of that food off on you - don't bring any of that shit home."

She nodded. "I won't."

Dad looked long and hard at her, eyes narrowed. "You keep a low profile. Don't be drawing attention to yourself like last time, cause you can change schools all you want, you won't find another job that'll take a…" He gestured with his glass, nearly letting it slosh to the floor.

Quinn frowned back at him. "I didn't… It wasn't my fault. I was trying to _ignore him_, how many times do I have to - "

"Are you raising your voice to me?" He'd taken a step forward.

She looked at her sandwich. Some jelly was oozing out the side. "No, sir."

"What the _hell_'d you do to your hair?" He pulled some strands from tickling her cheek to look at them, yanking her head forward a bit. "You _trying_ to look like a little boy? God almighty, don't tell me I'm promising to pay to get your chest chopped off."

"I'm _trying_ not to draw attention," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Isn't that what you told me to do?"

He let go of her, but he was still eyeing her, curling his lip. "You'd do better to quit feeling sorry for your little self."

"So would you," she muttered.

"_What's that_?"

"Nothing, sir."

Dad grunted at her, knocked back his glass, and wandered back out to the living room, where his game resumed its noises. Recorded old game, then. Quinn stuffed the remainder of her food into her mouth and swept the crumbs from the countertop into her brown bag, dumping it all in the trash before she grabbed her backpack and book and galloped up the stairs, panting when she reached the top but heading straight for her room. Normally she would pack her lunch for the next day before she came up, but it could wait until Mom got home, or until the morning. She adjusted her alarm for five minutes earlier just in case and then went to her closet, peering into her full length mirror.

She had seen her new haircut in the salon, of course, but it was different there with all the bright lights and smells and smiling stylist. Here in the glow of her ceiling lamp, she could see herself how she'd be seen at school when it started. Not stylish and new, but tomboyish and - invisible. Maybe. Of course it would help if she wasn't wearing a summer skirt and a peasant top. It was a wonder he hadn't commented on _that_, too, the way it hung off her shoulders. She pulled it over her head, tossed it to the bed, stared at her pudging stomach and cupped her breasts in their strapless bra. It wasn't very supportive, but Mom had insisted she looked so cute in the peasant top, and she couldn't exactly have her straps showing while she wore it. Her breasts were growing. Not daily or anything. They weren't going to be huge double D's at all, but they were becoming more...noticeable. She frowned at them.

Being topless wasn't helping the invisible look, though. Quinn turned to her closet, dug through blouses and dresses and - they were all so..._pretty_. Flowers and stars and pastels and pretty, pretty sky blues and soft pinks and gentle yellows. And all of them fit her snugly. Not the bottoms. The skirts and dress bottoms flared out appropriately, to hide her deficiency, but then there were her breasts and…

Quinn grabbed a garbage bag to start piling them in, everything pretty. She kept the baggy things, the too-big things, a couple of sweaters and hoodies and sweatpants and jeans. Few and far between, but she had them. Mostly for use at camping trips. But she threw out the flannel items, too. She didn't want to seem _gay_, just...invisible. Not butch, just not there at all. When almost all was said and done and she was about to drop into bed with her book in a hoodie and big pajama pants, there was a light knock on the door and then her mom's head poked in, and then her whole mom as she registered what was going on.

"Quinn? Darling, what's going on? What are you doing with all your clothes? And what happened to your hair? Oh!"

She was petting it already, but Quinn tried to ignore the cooing and sorrow over the loss of all her long, blonde hair. It wouldn't do any good to dwell. She could have long, blonde hair again when she turned eighteen. This was just temporary.

"I got rid of it. I'm getting rid of it. All of it."

Mom was silent, watching her tie knots on the top of the garbage bags.

"Honey…"

Quinn held up a hand. "No, Mom. It's done. I'm taking it all to Goodwill this weekend."

But she was smiling, cupping her face and her hair as she approached. "I was going to say that it's actually very becoming on you. And if you don't want the clothes anymore, I understand. You can't be my little princess forever. You have to become a big princess with your very own fashions. So why don't we go together this weekend? We'll drop the old off and afterward we can have a back to school shopping trip, we'll get you all the new you want."

She paused long enough to placate her mother with a small smile, but protested, "You shouldn't have to waste money like that. I'll buy my own way."

"It's not a waste as long as you get good use out of them. Besides, your birthday is coming up, consider it a back to school, birthday, spending time with your lonely mother shopping trip if you will," Mom persuaded, smiling in that almost impish way of hers.

Quinn rolled her eyes - but she couldn't keep from smiling. "Fine. But only because of the guilt trip."

"Of course, dear."

Mom grinned widely and drew her into a hug. Quinn indulged her for a few moments and then plopped on the edge of her bed, folding her legs up underneath her. It wasn't long before her mom sat primly next to her, smoothing out her pencil skirt and folding her hands in her lap.

"Speaking of your birthday, what kind of cake would you like?"

Quinn shrugged. "I don't need a cake."

"Yes, you do, everyone needs cake on their birthday," she cajoled playfully, and Quinn wondered for a moment how exhausting it must be to be so falsely cheerful all the time.

"Chocolate's fine."

"Chocolate with chocolate frosting?" She peeked at her, eyes a-sparkle.

Quinn pulled up a smile. "Chocolate with chocolate frosting."

Mom tucked her hair behind her ear. "What else would you like for your birthday?"

She shrugged. "You have my list."

"Yes, but what do you want to do the day of? I've put in for the day off of work. It'll be just you and me. Whatever you want to do."

Quinn peered at her, hesitating. "Really?"

She pet her hair again, framing her face. "Really, dear."

She gnawed her lip. "Then...I want to be a girl. Just for one more day."

Mom hugged her.

#

They went shopping over the weekend after stopping off at Goodwill with the old pretty clothes, hit all the stores in the mall and all their favorite places, too. By the end of the day, Quinn had a brand new wardrobe almost entirely made up of hoodies and jeans at least a size too big for her, all in a dark color theme, and even a couple of new pairs of shoes - sneakers, unlike her usual flats and low heels and tennis shoes. Mom had also made a point of buying her two new books even though they weren't on sale, and they went to her favorite restaurant and out for ice cream afterward. Dad wasn't too pleased to see all the bags going up into Quinn's room, but as soon as Mom said the word 'birthday', he grumbled his way back to his chair.

Tuesday was her birthday and, as promised, her mom took the day off and they spent it doing all the girly things they could think of. They'd scheduled appointments at the salon, and although Quinn had just had her hair done, they washed it and styled it with some layers, curly ends, and side bangs anyway. They got their eyebrows and a mani-pedi each done, too, before they headed to the spa for massages and facials. There wasn't much time left after that, but they did some real girl shopping for jewelry and makeup before they went home so Mom could get the cake and Quinn's favorite dinner in the oven. Dad lit the candles at Mom's request and sang Happy Birthday along with her when they set the cake down in front of Quinn, but retreated to his chair after he ate his piece of cake. They went upstairs anyway, to do each other's makeup and nails and watch Audrey Hepburn movies until it was time for bed. Dad gave her a $20 in lieu of saying good night.

And Quinn made another $40 from mowing lawn that week and, to her surprise, received calls for interviews from both Lima Bean and Breadstix, which she scheduled for the next week, just before school would start.

Saturday was her actual birthday party. Mom made chocolate chip pancakes for all when Francine and her husband arrived, and then the men went to talk in the living room while Quinn, Mom, and Francine went to set up the table and punch and decorations in the backyard. Francine spent most of the time chattering about her new husband and life as a housewife, swapping trade secrets with Mom, so Quinn tuned it all out until her grandparents finally arrived with hugs and kisses. Grandma Lester especially cooed over Quinn's new haircut and her pretty yellow dress - just about the only one she had saved - saying she looked like a little ball of sunshine, and Quinn stayed by her side while they all gathered in the backyard.

It was rare that her grandparents got to come see them. Her mother's parents lived in California and her father's in Georgia, but they were always kind to Quinn and sent her money for every birthday even if they'd also sent out a gift. The Fabrays were a little on the gruffer side, but Grandpa Fabray had brought her a brand new bookcase he'd made himself and he squeezed her tight when she hugged him. Grandma Fabray offered her the card with a $50 inside it and a new blouse. The Lesters also chipped in $50 and brought her a dress and a book of short stories. Francine (and her husband) bought her a makeup kit and a dating guide. Her parents, at least, (or rather, Mom) had gotten her almost all the books on her list, which she started filling her bookcase with almost as soon as Francine's husband and Dad got it up in her room.

When she came back down, to Mom's coaxing, they sat to break into the cake and ice cream - but before Mom could dip, someone called around the side of the house, "Anybody home?" and Quinn's last guest arrived: her therapist, Mr. Berry.


End file.
